Chapter Three: In Which a Great Deal of Screaming,
But Not Quite Enough Screaming, Happens
But Not Quite Enough Screaming, Happens
t was a nice enough house, Maris reasoned. They may be a little too jumpy to tolerate for a long period of time, but the family seemed nice. What in hell could have happened to this place that they completely lost their minds at the sight of an outsider? If they'd all been there for so long, secluded and such, would they all be inbred? Trust him to think about things like that now that the panic had ebbed, momentarily.
He unwrapped the white parcel, and a small, boxy leather case fell into his lap. He turned the fastenings with his fingers, still numb at the tips from long hours—days, really—in the snow. Slowly, he opened it a crack, just wide enough to glimpse bright, polished wood and silver strings. Maris smiled wistfully at it, ran his hand along its frame, then shut the case abruptly and rewrapped it. It was all he had left. His luggage and horse, which he had only rescued by a miracle as it was, had been sold off on his struggle North, to this thankless city. He would rather have sold his sword and body than the contents of that small wooden case.
Tenderly, he rewrapped the case in white cloth and slipped it under the bed. Better if he didn't think about it. Better if he didn't think at all.
Shouts from below filtered up to him and a few moments later there was a knock on the trapdoor. Moriko opened the trapdoor and peered up at him. "You are to see the council at nine bells tomorrow morning," she announced quietly.
"Thank you," he said quietly, then, quite suddenly, he asked, "This is your room?"
She looked at him, surprised. "Aye, it is.”
"I can sleep elsewhere. I have no wish to be an inconvenience." he insisted.
Moriko shook her head with a small, sad smile. "My father wishes for you to stay here."
“It is quite all right, trust me," she insisted.
"You're the one who saved me, aren't you?" With color finally returning to his face he was beginning to look less wraith-like.
A slight flush filled Moriko's cheeks. "Yes, I am."
"Why?"
She met his eyes squarely, boldly, "Because I am not like them."
"Then why don't you leave?" he asked, undaunted. A small smile, the first smile she'd seen from him, snuck slowly onto his face.
Moriko's eyes lowered then. "My family..."
He turned away, too, as if some strange line had been crossed in that exchange. "Thank you," he said at last, "I owe you a great debt."
Moriko shook her head, "Sleep well, Master Marisellinth," she disappeared down the ladder, the trapdoor closing behind her.
"Maris," he said quietly to the trap door, as he had said to thousands of people before, "You might call me Maris." He shouldn’t be making friends here. There was too much at stake.
A soft knock on the trapdoor woke him the next morning. It couldn't be nine bells already... Moriko indicated that there was breakfast available, and then promptly disappeared. He hadn’t intended to sleep at all—it had happened on accident. Sleep had dropped over him like a lead blanket. When he pulled back the trapdoor he saw two children staring up at him. He smiled gently at them, an act that changed his face immensely. He climbed quickly down the ladder, dropping the hatch behind himself.
The two children, Bella and Aidan, backed up out of his way as he reached the floor. They stared at him curiously.
"See, I told you he wasn't scary," Bella whispered loudly to Aidan.
Aidan stomped hard on her foot and Bella cried.
Moriko bounded up the stairs, Froderich's muffled voice filtering up through the floor. “Get downstairs before Father gets angrier," she insisted.
"But . . . but . . . Aidan stamped on my toe!" Bella whined.
"Take it up with Mother, now go!" Moriko pushed them toward the stairs.
Maris smiled hopelessly, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "They weren't bothering anything," he said quickly.
"Aye, but Father is furious that they aren't at the table," Moriko answered. "I'm sorry, the house is rather hectic in the morning," Moriko elaborated after Froderich's had quieted down.
"It's alright," he said softly, "I'm used to hectic."
They entered the dining room to find all of the children silently waiting at the table. Froderich's shouting had done its work. He stood by his chair, glaring as they entered. Nelia was in the kitchen gathering the food.
Moriko ushered Maris to a seat between Froderich and her brother, Cole, and moved into the kitchen to help her mother.
Maris took the seat, staring sullenly at his plate. All things aside, he was decidedly not thrilled, despite the fact that he wasn't tired. Already, his stomach was slithering into knots.
The food was brought to the table, Moriko and Nelia serving, and they all began to eat.
"So, you really intend to talk to the council today?" Cole asked from his elbow.
"Yes," Maris said quietly. "I do."
"I'm Cole, by the way," the boy announced, holding out his free hand, the other occupied with stuffing his face.
He took the boy's hand graciously, and shook it. "Maris. Good to meet you."
The boy swallowed and grinned.
"He's the oldest of the nine," Froderich announced proudly.
"No I'm not, Mori is," Cole insisted, stuffing another forkful of eggs into his mouth.
"Silence, Cole," Froderich insisted, "Anyway, Mister Maris, we'll be leaving at nine bells. The council isn't expecting you, so don't hope for a warm welcome."
"That's understandable," Maris agreed quietly. "And there's no Mister attached to it. It's just Maris."
Breakfast soon ended, and the younger children ran back upstairs to their rooms. Cole and Chance, the eldest of the boys, helped Nelia clear the table. Froderich sat back in his chair, and made himself comfortable. Maris also remained seated, assuming that Froderich had something to say to him. But Froderich said nothing, just continued picking at his teeth with a knife. Nelia shook her head at his impoliteness and sent Maris an apologetic smile before moving into the kitchen.
Maris suppressed a sigh, and rose from the table then, and went to a window. It was still early. The sun hadn't risen yet.
"You said there was a blood mage?" Froderich asked suddenly.
"Yes," Maris responded.
"And what may that be?"
"A mage who uses other peoples' misery, pain, suffering, and death as fuel for magic," he answered without much inflection, rubbing his arm surreptitiously.
"And you say there's one heading this way?"
"Yes, and his apprentice."
"We're doomed," Froderich breathed.
"You are not doomed," he said firmly, turning back from the window. "There are ways to stop this here before it begins."
"Not if the council doesn't listen," Froderich answered.
"They will listen." he said quietly.
Froderich stood and left the room.
Maris watched him go, then let out the exasperated sigh that he had been holding in for a little too long. It was the kind of sigh that moved melodramatically through his entire body, despite the lack of audience.
"Father has a habit of being rather blunt," a quiet voice announced.
He snapped back to attention. He hadn’t realized she was there, and felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Better blunt than dishonest," Maris said softly.
"Perhaps," Moriko murmured.
He turned back to the window, rubbing his arm again.
"Have you treated that at all?"
"It won't treat," he said simply. "I doubt there's many folk who could do anything for it.”
"Oh," Moriko murmured, suddenly very uncomfortable with the entire situation.
"You'll have to excuse me. I'm not generally so dreary, but...I think I had better spend the morning with myself. Try to pull myself together a bit."
He found himself absentmindedly picking his way back up to Moriko's room, wondering whether or not today would be his last day among the living—not that living meant much anymore. But it beat the alternative, he realized. He tried not to remember being trapped, helpless...wretched creatures. He shuddered involuntarily.
The leather case found its way into his hands. Sighing, he pulled at the latches and lifted the wooden harp from its fastenings. He plucked out a couple of notes on it, and winced. It hurt to bend his wrist that way with the burns and bruises.
Hardening his face a little, he reminded himself that he couldn't fall out of practice with it, or he wouldn't eat when he got out of this city. He hadn't played in a week. He'd been too busy getting here. More confidently, he plucked out the threads of a song.
Nine bells rang in the square. Froderich swore a steady stream as he hauled himself to the third floor, up the ladder, and slammed his fist on the trapdoor. "Are you going?"
"Yes," he called, putting the harp away and looking down at himself. So much white... if only he still had his overcoat. It was a better looking outfit with an overcoat. But he had sold it earlier in the week.
Froderich sighed and rumbled down the ladder. Maris came down quickly, questioningly. "Come on then, we're late for the council," he bumbled down the stairs. Maris followed closely, tucking a couple of frantic curses under his tongue and trying to mute the sound of his heart thrumming. Froderich led him out of the house and down the road leading to the square. Had Maris looked back, he would have spotted eight children peering out at him from the windows of the Shaw home.
The entire village was layered with a fresh blanket of snow from the night's storm. It was bizarrely beautiful, peaceful even. Froderich led him through the square, stomping easily through the snow without pausing. Ahead of them there stood a small, square, gray building. Maris assumed it was the council meeting house. They trudged up the stairs to a set of thick, wooden doors. Froderich pulled one of them open, motioning for Maris to enter first.
Maris went in first, murmuring a thank you, his eyes resignedly on his feet, mulling over what he had to say in these last remaining seconds. The wooden door slammed shut behind him and Froderich moved past, taking a seat amongst several other men.
Maris's raised his eyes, and his face dropped. All the words flew away from his mouth. He jammed a hand in front of his mouth, stomaching an outright scream at the sight of a tall, slender man in dark blue robes with long black hair tied down his back. The man granted him a sweet, twisted smile.
"Ah, Maris." His voice was like cold velvet. "Just the man I was talking about."
"N-no," he managed to stammer, taking a quavering step towards the door, groping for something sturdy to lean on for support. He found nothing, and stayed pinned to the spot. Run, he commanded his legs, frantically. Run! Go! He didn’t move.
"Clever, this one. He poses as a bard and steals blind from the folk he stays with. The entire town, in some cases. He was in my master's custody until recently," the man was smiling smugly. He was an exquisite-looking creature, charming, cajoling. Even Maris wanted to believe him, bend to the will of that soft, coy smile. "My Maris, oh, dear. Your little adventure was short lived, wasn't it?"
Maris's eyes went wide as the man took a few long, slow strides forward. "Stay away from me!" he shrieked, gripping his forearms protectively. Run! Go! He continued commanding his legs, to no avail.
"Now, now, we've troubled these kind people long enough, my Maris, you know," he turned to address the rest of the council in a confiding way. He already had them wrapped around his long, dark finger. Anything Maris might have said would be obsolete now. "This one here's been a real trip to keep up with. He's none too extraordinary looking. Blends in easily, and we only have his surname. Clever devil. Doubt if you've told your name to anyone the past decade, have you, my Maris?"
Maris had gone a frightening shade of pale. "Stay away from me," he whispered, forgetting the sword at his waist all together. "Please," he directed his hopeless plea to the council, knowing that the words were futile, "Keep him away from me. He's evil. He's here to destroy you all. He's the apprentice of a blood mage. They'll kill you all."
The man shook his head at Maris slowly, as if to say 'Silly fool. It's too late for that.' But instead he asked the council cordially, "Might I take my charge, then? I promise he won't disturb you again."
"Of course, sir," one of the men answered easily.
"I'm forever grateful," the man’s mouth widened, and he granted them a toothy grin. "My master will send the entire city wine. It’s a paltry reparation, but our resources are limited. We're so sorry for everything."
"Don't drink it," Maris said hoarsely, terrified.
"Shut up, you," the man snarled, "Enough of your delusions. We have a long way to go." Several of the councilmen, including Froderich, grinned.
"Don't!" Maris cried desperately, but the man smacked him hard across the jaw, and he spit up a bit of blood onto the floor, rasping as if he were about to be sick. The man grabbed him by the collar, and somehow Maris's sword belt dropped down around his ankles at the same time. The man hauled him free of it and out of the building. He might have been skinnier than Maris, but he was also taller, and had the advantage of not being terrified and frozen to the spot.
Once they were out of the town proper, the man set him down. "Ah, my Maris, if your suffering weren’t just utterly delicious, I'd have let you get away," he grinned viciously, wiping the blood from Maris's face with his thumb and licking his thumb clean, watching Maris squirm. "Sorry, but you know I couldn't let you get away with that, love. Come on now, Master is expecting us."
"I hate you," Maris managed to say, weakly.
"And I love you for hating me," the man smiled, still holding him by the collar. "Let's go, then."
"My harp," he said hoarsely.
"I’ll have a new one bought for you. Rest assured, you'll play for us still," the man assured him coldly, dragging him along.
"I don't want to play for you, and I want that harp. I've had it for years," Maris howled, already mourning his failure to himself, and to these people. He strained against the man’s grip, even though he knew it was pointless.
"Then when we burn this dump to the ground I'll return it to you on a silver platter, my Maris. So long as you come along now and shut up," the man said impatiently.
"I hope you rot," Maris said, his voice empty.
"Your kindness is staggering, my Maris," the man shook his head. "You have to admit that you missed me."
"Sorry, but no," Maris growled.
The man grabbed him by the waist. In a millisecond they were gone, the transport spell cast so quickly that the man's mouth had hardly moved.
Once they were standing in a cold, somber stone hallway, and the man dropped Maris onto the floor, his jaw connecting with the stone with a loud crunch. "My lord, I've got him." Maris closed his eyes, already wincing.
"Excellent. You never cease to charm me, Diluvian." a man responded to him, his hood pulled up over his head. "And you took care of our interests there?"
Diluvian’s mouth widened into that coy smile again. "Of course, my lord. An apology for troubling them so with our crazy, thieving friend will be delivered posthaste."
"And the water reservoir?"
Diluvian's smirk blossomed into a horrible, maniacal grin, "Will be dry in under a week. They'll be putty in our hands."
"In my hands," the hooded man corrected him fiercely, raising an arm as if he might strike the apprentice.
"Of course, my lord, of course. In your hands," Diluvian corrected himself hastily, bowing.
"Get rid of the bard. Take him where you will," the master mage directed Diluvian, bored of the exchange already.
"As you see fit, my lord," Diluvian bowed again. He seized Maris's collar again and dragged him away.
_________
Bonus Diluvian. biggrin
Yes, this is the s**t my Diluvian wears. All the time. This is a really old little picture, but it still makes me happy.
Thanks for reading.
I'd trust this guy to cart off a "raving lunatic," wouldn't you?
